


Five Times Emma's Parents Didn't Meet Simon (and One Time They Did)

by misura



Category: The Saint (1997)
Genre: 5 Things, Community: smallfandomfest, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-17
Updated: 2012-06-17
Packaged: 2017-11-07 22:50:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/436319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[see title]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Emma's Parents Didn't Meet Simon (and One Time They Did)

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: _Simon/Emma, Simon meets Emma's parents while dodging Interpol_

.01 _Martin de Porres_

Supermarkets really aren't Martin's usual scene, for all that they're excellent for picking up small tidbits of information, to say nothing of overhearing all sorts of local gossip, but Emma's staying at the house for the weekend, and although Simon would trust her with his life (with _all_ of his lives), he's just not ready to dive in blindly there.

He strongly suspects he never will; it's not a matter of old habits dying hard so much as it is a matter of, well, tactics. Emma was (and is) his third miracle. Her parents? No way to tell without meeting them first.

What to most people would be an insoluble problem ('how can I know if these people will be happy to meet me without meeting them?') is merely another 'job' to Simon. He can meet Emma's parents as often as he wants, without _them_ also meeting _him_. Easy, simple, elegant, and bound to annoy Emma when she finds out about it - as she will, if only because Simon will tell her.

"That looks like you are putting together a dinner party."

Martin's out of place, a stranger. "I am, actually. My daughter's visiting." No names, but still more details volunteered than Simon's comfortable with. It would be child's play to find out her name from someone else, deduct who her daughter must be.

"She is a professor, yes? At Oxford." Martin takes off his sunglasses. It makes him appear more intense, more sincere. "You must be very proud."

"Oh, you know her?" Mrs. Russell looks perhaps one percent wary. "Did you take one of her classes, perhaps?"

A less scrupulous man might well wrangle a dinner invitation out of this. "Yes, I - " Martin would never attend a lecture at a university. Not one about serious, hard science. It's not his thing at all. "I was very impressed. Excuse me, I think my phone is ringing."

 

.02 _Bruno Hautenfaust_

Mr. Russell (not _Dr_ Russell, somewhat to Simon's surprise) possesses the self-restraint and patience of, well, a saint. Simon's not sure why he's unleashed Bruno on the man, other than that Bruno's good at provoking people, at testing them. Railway stations are always good places for Bruno; people are generally waiting for something, and seating space is sparse, so they tend to want to stay where they are, once they've found a comfortable spot.

"You have divine cheekbones," Bruno says, because lips are off-limits, this time. As are arms, hands, legs, feet, chests, noses, eyes, hair, stomachs and asses.

"Thank you."

Usually, people move away fairly quickly when Bruno starts with the compliments. "Lipstick?" That one usually works well enough, too.

"Not really my thing, but you go ahead."

Well. Making actual conversation isn't really one's of Bruno's strong suits. "Oh."

"So, you waiting for a friend?"

"Boyfriend," Bruno says. "Yes." Nothing. Not so much as a blink. "I think that's his train arriving now."

 

.03 _Nicholas Owen_

Nicholas Owen is a handyman - no funny business, just expert repairs of sinks and drains and pipes and what-nots, done quickly, reliably and at quite competitive prices, which is to say that Nick's expensive, but worth it.

He's not in the yellow pages _'yet'_ , he explains to Mrs. Russell, because he's still sort of new, not sure if there's going to be enough work around these parts. 

"Well, you're not going to get a lot of work if no one knows you exist, are you?" She's smiling when she says it, the way Emma does.

Emma, happily, is miles away at Oxford, doing her science thing.

"I was hoping that maybe you'd put in a good word for me with your friends," Nick says. (Simon's never really noticed Nick is a bit naive, really, a touch innocent. Also: very few people knew about _him_ but that never stopped the jobs from coming in. Different line of work, sure, but not _that_ different.)

"Maybe I will," she says, watching as he crawls under the sink and discovers, somewhat to his relief, that all that's required are a few turns with the wrench and perhaps a new bit of piping if he's feeling flashy - which he is, obviously; it's Emma's _mother_ , after all, even if that can't, shouldn't, _doesn't_ mean anything to Nick.

She feeds him cookies, after, and tells him fond stories about her husband, the genius klutz, and he almost feels guilty about leaving her with a fake phone number.

 

.04 _Peter Parenzo_

Peter is a jerk. Or, no, he's a stickler for The Rules, which is even worse.

"I'm sorry, sir, ma'am, but you're going to have to apply for a license for this building."

Mrs. Russell looks like she thinks that's not a big deal. Mr. Russell looks like he's heard this one before. "We need to get a license for a _garden shed_? Why? It's been there forever; it's not like it bothers anyone."

"Rules are rules, sir. I'm sure you understand."

"So can we get a license from you?" Mrs. Russell looks like she's two seconds away from inviting him inside for tea and possibly even cookies, which is much, much more than Peter deserves.

Peter shakes his head, regretful but firm. "Only at city hall, ma'am. Between ten and twelve AM. You might be in for a bit of a wait though; it's been pretty busy these past few days."

Mr. Russell mutters something. Mrs. Russell sighs. "Well, we'll do that then. Thank you."

"No problem, ma'am, sir. You have a nice day now."

 

.05 _Thomas Garnet_

A few things can never be accounted for in advance, but this being England, the weather can generally be relied on to turn poor at least once a day.

"Hi," Thomas says, his smiling falling a bit short. His shirt is soaked, and his shoes look rather muddy. "Sorry to bother you, but I just got a flat tire and I was wondering - "

Both Mr. and Mrs. Russell are currently at home, although Mrs. Russell is the only one who's come to the door. She smells faintly of cookies.

"Oh, of course. Do come in; it's beastly."

Thomas would rather be on his way, really. On the other hand, it _is_ beastly, and it might clear up in a bit, English weather being what it is. "Thank you."

"My husband's quite handy with repairs," Mrs. Russell says, which Simon would approve of by way of saying: _'I'm not alone in this house, so don't try anything'_ , except that that's probably not why she's saying it.

Thomas prefers not to let other people touch his bicycle. "If I could borrow your tools, that would be great."

"Of course. I'm sure it won't be long now; there's a bit of sunlight coming through already."

Mr. Russell walks in, looking slightly harried. He's been trying to fix a bit of piping, as it turns out - "I've been telling him we should get a professional to handle it, but he never listens to me," Mrs. Russell says fondly, toying with a card that's got a name and phone number on it. "I'm just going to wait until he's not here and then when he gets home, hopefully it'll all be over."

"I'm only good at fixing my bike," Thomas says, slightly apologetically. "Know it inside out."

"Well, accidents just happen sometimes," Mrs. Russell says. "Would you like some tea? I made cookies; have one. Or two."

 

.01 _Simon Templar_

"I want you to meet my parents," Emma says over the phone, and there's a very real temptation to ask: _'which me?'_ , because Simon knows now that he can find versions of him that would appeal to Emma's parents, possibly even one or two they would approve of as their prospective son-in-law.

This is Emma, though. "I'd love to meet your parents. When?"

She doesn't ask _'where are you?'_. It's not a safe question to ask over the phone. "Whenever you can."

"Any specific place?"

She's still in Oxford right now, but she'll be visiting her parents again for the weekend. "Anywhere you want."

"I'll be there." He feels only slightly nervous when he hangs up.

"So what _did_ the two of you get up to in Russia, exactly?" Mrs. Russell asks, nudging a plate of cookies in his direction as if she expects that to be enough to make him talk.

(As it turns out, it kind of is.)


End file.
